


You -- Strange As Angels

by meditationsinemergencies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Kissing, Rare Pairings, Severus and Sybil are buddies, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22697908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meditationsinemergencies/pseuds/meditationsinemergencies
Summary: Severus Snape is perfectly content not singing, in fact, he'd be happy if he never sang a word for the rest of his life. Then, one afternoon, a song involuntarily begins spewing from his mouth.
Relationships: Severus Snape/Nymphadora Tonks
Comments: 21
Kudos: 37
Collections: Hermione's Nook RarePair Soulmate Fest





	You -- Strange As Angels

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of Hermione's Nook Rare Pair Soulmate Fest
> 
> Trope/Prompt: - You’re forced to sing whatever song your soulmate is singing, or get into a perfect duet. 
> 
> Many, many thanks to [adavison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adavison/profile) for endless support and encouragement and beta-ing. You're the best. 
> 
> Songs in order of appearance: 
> 
> “Here Comes My Baby” - Cat Stevens  
> “Disorder” - Joy Divison   
> “We Don’t Need Another Hero” - Tina Turner  
> “Basket Case” - Green Day  
> “Goodnight Elisabeth” - Counting Crows  
> “Get Over You” - The Undertones  
> “Just Like Heaven” - The Cure

**_Summer Holidays — Summer 1996_ **

Sybill Trelawney's office, in the highest part of the north tower, was everything it was expected to be.

It was a fairly small office compared to some of the other professors' if truth be told, but Sybill didn't know this — nor would she have cared if she did. The two walls that did not have a window or a door were lined with shelves and each shelf was crammed with odds and ends: books, plants, crystal balls, teacups, various tin canisters of various tea leaves, incense, oils, clay and glass models of hands with diagrams etched into them for assisting in reading the palms of hands, trinkets, journals, scarves she'd lied down and forgotten to pick back up, and so on and so forth. Her desk, compared to her shelves, seemed bare. On it, she always had a cup of tea, a notebook and a quill, her favorite tea set for reading tea leaves, her preferred deck of tarot cards, and her grandmother's crystal ball. 

There was a large window on the back wall that she had almost always open, even in poor weather. And she had hammock swings for chairs, the one behind her desk and the two in front for whoever was to visit. All three were loaded down with pillows, all brightly colored and bejeweled or beaded. 

It was true that in all the years working together, Severus Snape had never been in her office; he wished it had remained that way. It was a rainy summer evening, and rain flitted in from the open window. He had attempted to transform one of her preposterous hammock swings into a suitable chair, but she had charmed them so they could not be transformed. 

"What in the hell, Sybill? I'm not sitting in this thing."

"Oh, Severus. It is good for your body to sit suspended; it would benefit you the most if you were to also pull your feet up into the hammock. It's good for your core to not be constantly pressed against the ground or pressed against something pressed to the ground." 

Looking at her as she spoke, he noticed her legs were crossed in the hammock, she had a pillow in her lap, she wore a long skirt and a camisole, which revealed, when the wind blew in cooler air, that she was not wearing a bra. Snape internally rolled his eyes at her casual, carefree nature. Sybill gestured towards the hammock, "Sit, Severus. And do stop scowling, you're throwing off the energy in here."

"How much bloody incense do you burn every day? It smells awful." He sneered as he slowly and unsurely lowered himself into the hammock. He found that most of the pillows were in his way, and he tossed all but one onto the floor with irritation. 

Sybill patiently waited for him to get settled before beginning the conversation. She held back laughter as she watched him fidget and adjust and then readjust. Finally, he stamped both his feet onto the floor, his legs spread widely and outstretched— if most of his body had to be confined to this damn hammock then he'd at least give his legs the release of being spread out far and wide. He rested his hands on his thighs, strumming his long fingers, and he adjusted his head one more time before letting out an obnoxiously loud huff. 

"Are you done moving now?"

"No," he barked. 

"I can wait all night, Severus. I'm not the one randomly singing songs I don't even know. Would you like some tea?" Severus sighed, adjusting once more to pull a small black notebook out of his back pocket. He tossed it on her desk. “What is this?” she asked, leaning forward to grab the notebook.

“Everything I’ve been fucking singing over the past few days. You said you could help.”

“I said I could help you understand,” she raised her eyes from the notebook to him and then back down to the notebook, flipping through the pages. He narrowed his eyes at her, and, with a wave of his hands said, “Well, get on with it.”

Still looking over the notebook, “Tell me when it started.”

“Yesterday.”

—

Snape noticed it when it started almost instantly. 

Most people listen to music. Most people hum to themselves, whistle occasionally and sing, whether alone or in the company of someone else. Snape did not do these things. He listened to classical music and he listened to jazz, specifically while he graded or brewed, but he hadn’t listened to music with lyrics since he was young, and he certainly never just had a random song stuck in his head long enough to make him sing it aloud. So when he was standing in the shower — letting the scalding water cleanse his skin, and he opened his mouth involuntarily and he began to sing he knew that something was terribly, horribly, absurdly wrong. At first, he thought it was a fluke. Perhaps his brain was reacting to all the time he’d practiced occlumency; perhaps his brain was reacting to one too many times of being cursed.

But he just kept singing. 

Singing this song he didn’t know; singing melodies he’d never heard before. He leaned against the tile of his shower and shut his mouth, but it seemed to open right back up and he kept on singing. He clamped his hand over his mouth, and it seemed to muffle the words coming out of his mouth but the song was still there — in his head. He was still singing, just to himself. Until, suddenly, he stopped — mid-word. He ended with “com-” which, based on the words he’d already sung he knew should have been “comes” which would have fit into the line “here comes my baby.” 

Snape shuddered a little. He sang the words **“** **Well, here comes my baby. Here she comes now. Walking with a love, with a love that's oh so fine. Never to be mine. No matter how I try”** nude, in the shower, by himself. _What in the fresh bloody hell is this shit?_ he thought to himself. 

That evening, Snape was sitting on the couch in his living quarters with a notebook in hand. Snape was adamant about keeping journals. He wasn’t exactly waxing poetic about his day with teenagers or how the Dark Lord was probably returning or how Dumbledore was driving him insane, but he did keep notes on the things he did, the potions he brewed, and so on and so forth. At first, he was going to get a new, empty notebook to write down the lyrics he’d sung, but he figured that it would be a waste of a notebook; he was quite certain that what happened earlier was just a fluke. 

As Snape began to write down the lyrics, he realized that he knew the entire song, even though he hadn’t heard it. He knew the melodies and he knew all the words — even the ones he hadn’t been forced to sing earlier. He wrote them down in a fervor, as he read over the lyrics he began to annotate them as one does to a poem. What stood out to him was the word “phone”.  **You never walk alone and you’re always talking on the phone** . _ This is clearly a Muggle song. Is this something I heard as a child? Is my brain conjuring up things I don’t even consciously remember?  _

Snape closed his notebook and laid back on his couch trying to figure out exactly what had happened earlier. But, right before he dozed off to sleep, it happened again. Lying there, the notebook on his chest, his hands folded neatly atop his abdomen, his ankles crossed, he began to sing  **“I've been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand. Could these sensations make me feel the pleasures of a normal man?....”** He’d pause and sing and pause and sing for around three and a half minutes. It was as if, he thought, he was singing along with a song; picking up his notebook, he wrote down the lyrics to this song, too. He read over the lyrics, but there was no indication as to whether or not it was a Muggle song or not. 

The next day, around noon, he realized he was going to need a separate notebook for whatever it was that was going on. He sang three songs that morning back to back. He didn’t stop himself from singing; he was alone each time it had happened so far, and he wanted to experience the phenomena in full in hopes that it would help him to figure out whatever it was that was happening to him. 

He felt immensely grateful that it was summer, where he was largely left alone at Hogwarts and was absolutely alone when he went to his home in Spinner’s End. He knew, however, that it was only a matter of time before he was around people, and he was desperate to figure out what it was before he ended up singing some stupid song in front of Lucius Malfoy or, worse, Dumbledore and the rest of his colleagues. 

He made a list of things that could possibly be going on with him in his notebook:

_ -A brain-altering poison?  _

_ -Drugged? _

_ -Effect of being cursed?  _

_ -A curse? _

_ -Brain tumor? — most ideal situation _

He truly felt that at this moment a brain tumor would be the easiest of all the options. He could simply go live his final days in peace and forget all about the blasted war and teaching teenagers. He’d go find a beach somewhere warm and lie in the sand and drink overly sweet alcoholic beverages; he believed he’d be very happy doing just that, even if it meant singing random songs until his dying day.

That evening, he was to have dinner with Dumbledore and all the faculty and staff of Hogwarts. It was the beginning of the summer tradition. All the students were out of their hair, and they had a small amount of time to breathe before they all had to focus on other obligations. Snape had a much smaller amount of time than the rest of them, and he wished desperately that he didn’t have to participate in it, especially not now with his singing-issue. 

Snape thought he was going to make it through the entire dinner without singing. It had been two hours, and he was very near being able to make his escape. He was sitting at the end of the table with no one to one side of him, McGonagall in front of him, and, much to his and Minerva’s dislike, Sybill Trewlaney to his right. Sybill had turned to him and was talking about something to do with the stars and astrology and its merits. He couldn’t be sure. He never paid attention when Sybill talked to him. He glanced over at Minerva in hopes of her saving him, but she was turned to her left and was engaged in a deep conversation with Rolanda Hooch — then it happened again.

Sybill Trewlaney’s eyes widened, but she wasn’t alone: McGonagall, Hooch, Hagrid, Flitwick, Dumbledore, all of their eyes widened when suddenly Snape started singing, “ **We don’t need another hero. We don’t need to know the way home. All we wa** —” and he slapped his hand over his mouth.

“Severus, are you ok?” McGonagall inquired. 

Snape moved his hand from his mouth; he didn’t hear the song in his head anymore, and so he assumed it was over. “Yes. Excuse me. I must go,” he stood up to leave, and McGonagall continued on, “What was that? Were you singing? What you were singing?  _ Why _ you were singing?”

He snapped at her; he knew he was one of the few people who could snap at McGonagall and get away with it. He’d send her some biscuits tomorrow and apologize for being a right bastard, and they’d share them over tea while complaining about other teachers and students, but he’d concern himself with that later.

“Dammit, Minerva. I. Don’t. Know. I just keep fucking singing, ok? My brain is rubbish from all the times…” he glared at Dumbledore for a split-second and then stormed out of The Great Hall. 

Everyone at the table remained quiet, looking concernedly at one another. Sybill stood up, “If you will excuse me.”

Minerva chortled, “Please don’t tell me you’re going after Severus, Sybill.”

Sybill turned on Minerva, she placed her hands on her hips, her chin tilted up, “Oh, yes. I am. There  _ are  _ certain things that I understand that you do not, Minerva. Not everything can be found in a book.”

Minerva pursed her lips and shook her head as she watched Sybill leave the hall. 

Sybill found Snape in his office. How he had gotten there so quickly, she had no idea. The door was open and she stood in the door frame, “I know of a phenomenon that would explain what’s going on with you. If you would like to discuss this, I’ll be in my office.” She abruptly turned and left. Snape was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands the entire time she spoke; he didn’t even look up at her. He sighed heavily and rubbed his face with his hands when he heard her leave. With a flick of his wand, he shut his office door. Dinner would be ending soon and he didn’t want Minvera or Albus barging into his office to chat about his little show at dinner. He thought long and hard about not going to Sybil’s office, but after about half an hour, he pushed himself away from his desk, checked his back pocket for his notebook, and headed towards the north tower.

—

**  
** **“** Just yesterday? When exactly?”

Snape hesitated. He hated this. He hated having to share information about himself with anyone, let alone a faux-seer bohemian. He let out a deep, irritated sigh, “ Yesterday evening. I was in the shower and it just started. I assumed it was some misfiring of my brain. I don’t know. Shit. And then it happened again before I fell asleep, and it happened several times today and then, as you saw, at dinner.” 

“You don’t know any of these songs?” She wasn’t looking at him, she was still just flipping through his notebook, reading those songs and his notations on them. He hated that, too. He wished she would just look up at him. “No, Sybil. Some seem to be obviously Muggle. They reference Muggle things.” 

“Hmmmm.”

“Sybil, I don’t have time for this. Will you just tell me what in the hell you think is going on?”

She breathed deeply and slowly, shutting her eyes, and closing his notebook, letting it rest in her lap, “There is a particular phenomenon it’s called Gaibim Sawol…” she paused as if she expected Snape to say something in response to this, but he didn’t. He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. “Gaibim Sawol is when two people, who are soulmates, but don’t know they’re soulmates, sing whatever song the other person is singing until they end up singing a song together — until they realize they’re soulmates.” 

Snape began to laugh. He was positive he hadn’t laughed this hard since he saw that stupid Muggle movie over the Easter holidays. He doubled over, his forearms resting against his legs, his back bent, his head hanging towards the floor. He took slow breaths to stop his laughter, running his hands over his face and pushing his hair back with one of his hands. 

“I don’t have a  _ soulmate _ ,” he cringed as he said the word. 

“Yes, Severus, you do. You have a soulmate somewhere.”

“Why now? Has this person always been my soulmate? And, if so, why wouldn’t I have been singing my whole entire life? Why did it just start?”

“I had more to say before you interrupted me with your laughing.”

He motioned his hands to indicate for her to continue. “This phenomenon is very rare and only occurs when the two individuals have failed to come together on their own. To answer your question, no you have not had your soulmate your entire life. Something, at some point…”

Unfortunately for Snape, and more fortunate for Sybill, Snape interrupted her: He began to sing,  **“I went to a shrink to analyze my dreams. She says it’s lack of sex that’s bringing me down. I went to a whore. He said my life’s a bore. So quit my whining cause it’s bringing her down. Sometimes I give myself the creeps. Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me. It all keeps adding up. I think I’m cracking up.”**

The singing stopped just as suddenly as it began, and now it was Sybil’s turn to laugh. As she threw her head back, it was more of a cackle than a laugh, and Snape buried his face in his hands and groaned into his palms. “Well…” she began, “Is it?” 

He pulled his hands away and gave her a look of irritation and confusion, “Is  _ what _ what?”

“Is lack of sex bringing you down?”

“Fuck off, Sybil,” he replied, which sent her into another fit of cackles. “Phew! Well, that...I like this person’s taste in music, Severus.” 

“I hate it,” he spat. 

“So, you believe me?” she inquired

“Just continue explaining it.”

“Something, at some point, happened. Something threw you off your original track. We’re all on some sort of path, Severus, but these paths can move and shift over time. We aren’t stuck in our current course. No one is. Things rearrange accordingly. We don’t…” she paused, “we don’t have to do what we think we’re destined to do. We aren’t destined to do any one thing.”

Snape knew what she was saying. He knew she was referring to his role in the upcoming war and the rise of the Dark Lord. He wasn’t sure how much she knew, what she knew, why she knew whatever it was she knew — did she know things because she was a seer or did she know things because she was told things? He supposed it didn’t matter. He supposed, also, he should go along with what she was saying. If this were true, he wanted to know as much about it as possible.

“Are there...rules to this, this thing that happened? Did I experience it or did the other person? Do I know this person already? How do I find them? Does the singing stop once I find them?”

A smile played at Sybil’s lips, pleased with Snape’s growing curiosity, “There are no set rules, no, Severus. It’s a phenomenon occurring between souls — the magic that binds them together. You are a potioneer. You of all people should understand that some of the best things don’t have instructions to follow.”

“Yes. Well, there are still foundational rules and instructions for brewing. You just don’t throw shit together willy-nilly.” 

Sybil sighed and chose to ignore his comment, “With that being said, you may have experienced it. The other person may have. You may have experienced it together. Perhaps you don’t even know the person. Perhaps you know the person very well. I don’t know, Severus. Souls. Love. That sort of magic isn’t for us to fully understand.”

They were silent for several moments. Sybil seemed perfectly content to sit with him silently. Snape was staring at her shelves, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Severus. I will say, that, more than likely, when you come upon this person, you will find that part of you has always loved them, even if you were unaware of it. It will come naturally, so to speak. It won’t be difficult to love them. Your world will shift. Your priorities will change. Please understand that.” 

He let out a loud sigh of surrender, “So, how do I find her?” 

“You probably won’t like it, but I have an idea.” 

—

Nymphadora Tonks was sitting in her office with Kingsley Shacklebolt and, the newly recovered after his stint in a trunk, Alastor Moody. 

Considering everything that was going on, the three had been having a rather jovial and humorous conversation. They enjoyed teasing Tonks, and she enjoyed giving it right back. At twenty-three she was considered a very young auror, but she was serious and determined when working, and Moody believed her to be one of the best aurors they had. They were finishing up their work for the evening, when Moody made a crack at the idea of Harry Potter being their hero, “I suppose we will bust our arses catching Death Eaters and just wait on Potter to sprout some underarm hair. I can’t believe a fourteen-year-old boy is going to end up being the hero we need to save our arses,” he growled. 

Kingsley chortled, “Until then, the Ministry is our home,” and without pause Tonks burst into song, “ **We don’t need another hero. We don’t need to know the way home. All we want is a life beyond the...”** she paused and yelled, not sung, the word “MINISTRYYYYYYY.” 

She stopped, held out her hands towards Moody and Kingsley, but both of them just stared at her. 

“You don’t know that one either?”

“No, Tonks. How many times do we have to tell you? I don’t watch Muggle movies or listen to Muggle music, and, come on, look at Moody. He’s been using the same quill for the past 20 years, do you honestly think he’s going to try to figure out how to watch movies or listen to a … what’s it called again?”

“Record player,” Tonks answered. 

“Right. Do you think Moody is going to take the time to figure out a record player?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “Nahhh. But, you two should really come over and watch Mad Max with me. You’d love it, Kinglsey. The newest one, Thunderdome, wasn’t nearly as good at the first two, but the song for it is quite catchy.”

Moody growled at her, “What in the bloody fuck is a Thunderdome?”

Tonks and Kingsley burst into laughter, and the three of them began to pack up their things to go home. They laughed and bickered as they made their way to the apparition point; Tonks apparated to her flat, dropped her bag, kicked off her shoes, and began to settle in for the evening— unaware of the grief she was had been and would continue to cause Severus Snape. 

—

**  
** A month after his conversation with Sybil, Snape had a notebook filled with lyrics. Sometimes, he found that he really enjoyed what his supposed soulmate sang, other times he wanted to strangle her for her wretched choice in music. He’d come to grow used to singing some song about being in love on Friday’s on Friday. He found his Monday’s to be very dull, but she seemed to enjoy singing a song about it being manic. 

Snape wasn’t looking forward to enlisting help from someone else, but Snape didn’t have the time or the resources to do this by himself. 

He found Hermione Granger in the library of Grimmauld Place by herself. He cleared his throat and she looked up, startled from her book, “Professor?” 

“Miss Granger. I need your assistance with something.”

He could read on her face that her interest was peaked and he couldn’t help but immediately be annoyed by her desire to assist and prove herself. He pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing. 

“You are not allowed to ask questions. I will tell you everything you need to know. I will provide you with whatever resources you need. Do you understand?”

The girl nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He handed two notebooks over to her, before he continued, “These are charmed so that only you can read what’s in them. Potter. Weasley. Black. Whomever. They cannot see what’s inside them. Only me. Only you.”

“Okay, but what…”

“Miss Granger, what did I say about questions? Let me finish....please.” The girl shut her mouth and nodded slightly. “Thank you. These books are filled with lyrics to songs. I believe most of them to be Muggle. I don’t know much about Muggle music, at least not Muggle music with lyrics. These songs, they evade me entirely. This is where you come in. I need you to figure out the titles and anything you can about the musicians. I can provide you with access to a Muggle radio. Whatever you need. I’d like this to be completed as soon as possible. Do you understand?” 

She nodded her head in understanding. He continued, “Miss Granger, if you can complete this task, to thank you, I will reward you fifty house points — five points a week over the course of ten weeks. Of course, this does not stop me from taking away house points.” Before she could reply he ripped a page out of his notebook and wrote down the conditions and signed it. He cast a charm on the paper, magically binding himself to the small contract he’d drawn up. He pushed it over to her. She read over it, and signed it, too. 

“Send me an owl when you’re done.” 

~~~

Four days later, Snape received a note from a rather old and tired owl.  _ Must be the Weasley’s,  _ he thought. 

The neat and tidy script he knew very well as Hermione Granger’s read, “It’s complete.” 

His heart was pounding with...was it nerves? Excitement? Anticipation? He wasn’t sure. He found that he was beginning to look forward to the songs now. He missed them if they were gone for too long. He found the songs running through his head when she wasn’t singing, but he hadn’t allowed himself to sing anything to her yet; he was waiting. He wanted to know more about who she might before he allowed the phenomena to happen to her. He wrote Miss Granger back and informed her he would see her the next evening at an Order meeting.

~~~

When he walked into the Order meeting, it was business as usual. It had yet to begin so non-members were still floating around the kitchen and dining room: Molly was badgering everyone, including him about staying for dinner after. Lupin was there. Black was there. They were sitting together whispering about something and smirking amongst themselves. Potter and Weasley were off somewhere. The youngest Weasley and Granger were sitting with Tonks. Tonks had a big smile on her face and must have just said or done something humorous as both the younger girls were laughing. 

Hermione spotted him and excused herself for a moment. Snape left to peruse the library as he usually did before meetings began. Hermione was there and she handed him back the notebooks, “You did that faster than I expected.” She beamed at him, “Yes, sir. It was fun. It felt like a puzzle.” He nodded as he flipped through the notebook, “Thorough, as usual. Nicely done, Miss Granger. I appreciate this more than you know.” Her smile seemed to be plastered on her face. 

“May I ask you a question, Miss Granger?” She nodded, “Of course, sir.” He closed the notebook and slipped it into a pocket of his trousers, it shouldn’t have fit into his pocket, but it did, and now she could no longer see the notebook at all. She furrowed her brow. “How did you do that?” she asked quickly and suddenly, her curiosity peaking. Snape couldn’t help but chuckle a little, “Extendable charm. Now, back to my question, and then this conversation is over; how did you find all these songs?” 

“Oh, well, some of them I knew. Muggle radio. Muggle parents. I owled my father about a few of them that I knew the words to but I wasn’t sure about who wrote them. Also, I went to a record store, and I just told them I heard a few songs and wasn’t sure who they were. Mr. Weasley was happy to take me there. He loves Muggle things. He spent the entire time staring at the older Muggle record players they had in the back. And, finally, I asked Tonks about some of the ones I couldn’t figure out at all. She is pretty knowledgeable about Muggle culture.”

“Tonks?” Snape’s curiosity peaked. Nymphadora Tonks. Former student. Hufflepuff. Auror. Quirky. Pink hair. Loud. “Thank you, Miss Granger.” Snape left the library and joined the rest of the Order.

He eyed Tonks from across the table. He watched her interact with almost everyone in the room. She was so  _ nice _ and sincerely interesting, which was something he cared more about than her looks, which wasn’t to say she didn’t have those too, as Snape found her to be a very attractive woman. Quite honestly, he had thought about her several times of the course of the few months, ever since they shared pints in a crowded Muggle bar in Derry. 

**_Easter Holidays - Spring, 1996_ **

Snape wondered how far his elasticity would go; he was being stretched, and small rips, hundreds of small holes, were beginning to form. He had pushed himself away from his desk, and he walked to the nearest apparition point. He didn’t have anywhere in mind; he just apparated. He ended up on the streets of Derry, Ireland. He perused the streets. He was so tired. He wished more than anything else to not be who he was. He wished he was just a normal person walking the streets of this town to head towards home or dinner. But, he wasn’t a normal person; he was too many things all at once, and he was, at this moment, barely able to keep up. 

He tried to clear his mind as he walked, but it was useless: he kept thinking about the tournament, about Potter, about Diggory, about Krum, about Karkaroff, about the Dark Mark coming back, about the Dark Lord, about Dumbledore, and, on top of it, all the blasted grading he had to do over what was supposed to be Easter holidays. Snape understood Muggles well enough and was always prepared with Muggle money; when you were a spy, you could never be sure what and when you might need something. He didn’t have any plans other than he knew he’d get something to eat by himself at a pub somewhere, so when he stumbled upon a movie theater; he did a mental shrug of the shoulders, and paid for a movie that was playing in ten minutes. He enjoyed the Muggle cinema. He had seen Muggle movies in his childhood, and, occasionally, when he was alone, and when he had the time, he would go see a movie. Snape didn’t even know what movie he had just bought a ticket for, but it didn’t matter. He just needed something, by Salazaar,  _ anything _ to keep himself from thinking. 

Snape bought himself popcorn and a Coca-Cola. When he stepped into the theatre, the previews were already rolling and the lights had been dimmed. He looked around the theatre and saw it was sparsely populated. There was a couple to the middle left, someone alone in the dead center with his or her feet propped up on the seat, and a group of four people in the very back. Snape went for right between the center and the back, a little to the right. He took a deep breath and felt himself immediately relaxing. The coke fizzed and burned in a good way; the salt on the popcorn made his mouth immediately salivate with want for more. He felt  _ good. _ He squinted down at the ticket stub it read  _ Billy Madison _ . He didn’t have a clue what or who this movie was going to be about based on its title, which he thought was an even better distraction. 

Tonks loved Muggle movies and television shows and music. Any time she had off, she’d plan to go see a movie. She would get a gigantic bag of extra buttery extra salty popcorn and then dump two boxes of Milk Duds into it. 

She had arrived at the theatre long before Snape walked in. She was busily unsticking two Milk Duds when he took his seat. She loved this movie. She saw it when it first came to theatres, and this theatre was showing it as a double feature with  _ Happy Gilmore.  _ She was more than content to spend her Thursday evening with Adam Sandler, with caramel stuck in her molars, with her belly sore from laughing; it was a nice break from all the cases she’d been working. 

Her pink hair was hidden beneath the hood of her sweatshirt, had it not been, Snape may have noticed her, but he didn’t: She noticed him first. 

One laugh stood out to her above all in the theatre; with this man’s laugh, she thought  _ That’s the best laugh I have ever bloody heard.  _ It was deep and full, but it was also rusty, which made it even more endearing. To her, it sounded more authentic than any laugh she'd ever heard. She heard it in harmony with her own — its bass booming beneath hers. At one part of the movie, the man sounded like he was running out of breath he was laughing so hard, she took this as her chance to turn around and see him, whoever he was. She almost dropped her container of popcorn when she saw Severus Snape sitting there, a drink in his hand, and laughing. She turned away quickly and had to check one more time. It was definitely Snape. His hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, he wore what looked like a lightly-knit black jumper: He looked younger and he looked shockingly handsome — she chalked both of these things up to the fact that he was mid-laugh each time she glanced at him, which turned out to be a lot over the course of the film. 

When the first film was over, she glanced back to see him getting up to leave. Tonks couldn’t pass up the opportunity to talk to him. She just had to. She didn’t have a reason to, she just wanted to. In school, she enjoyed his class. He was easily frustrated, but he was never cruel to her. And, from her understanding, he was much more of a bastard now than he had ever been when she was in school. Him being here now added an interesting layer to what she knew of him, and she just wasn’t going to let it lie. 

As she saw him walk out the doors and into the lobby, she got up and quickly followed behind him. She figured the best way to get him to talk to her was in front of Muggles. If they were alone he could dismiss her or apparate without a word, but he wouldn’t do that if others were around. 

He was moving through a group of teenagers when he heard a familiar female voice yell his name, “Severus! Hello!” He quickly turned and saw her. Her bright pink hair, shortened waves rested and inch or so below her ear. His stomach had dropped at his name and rose slightly into position when he saw here. She, he could handle; she wasn’t any sort of threat to him. He would be able to quickly end the conversation and get back to Hogwarts. He took a deep breath, shoved his hands into the pockets of his black jeans and stepped towards hers. Her smile was wide, her hands shoved into the pockets of her black zip-up hoodie. “Fancy seeing  _ you  _ here, Severus.”

He pursed his lips together, “Yes, well we all have our guilty pleasures, Miss Tonks.” She rolled her eyes at the Miss. “Just Tonks, please. It’s been a while since I was in your classroom. We’re...colleagues now...sort of. Hmm, perhaps it’s better to say that we’re in cahoots together.” She laughed a little at herself, still smiling widely at him. He felt something very small and almost unnoticeable tug at his heart. He nodded at her, his lips still pressed tightly together, “Have a nice evening, Miss Tonks.” He turned to leave her and she reached out for him, her fingers resting gently against his bicep, “No, no, you don’t get off that easily.” 

He looked down at her fingers against him, her fingernails painted a light lavender and then he glanced back up to her face, “What?” he asked. 

“I want to know what you thought of the movie, but it’s a bit rude to discuss a movie in a movie theatre where people are waiting to see the said movie, doncha’ think?” 

Severus let out a deep sigh, “What do you suggest then?” He expected her to say somewhere back home, somewhere he could easily say no to due to onlookers, possible students, anyone really who might know one of them. “There’s a little pub on the next street over. They have cheap pints on Thursdays and the best chips.” 

_ A pint and chips with Nymphadora-for-some-reason-I-make-my-hair-hot-pink-Tonks. Really? Really? Well, why the fuck not?  _ He was, after all, in a good mood, and they were in Ireland, so it was unlikely they’d run into anyone here in a Muggle pub. He looked her over and shrugged his shoulders, “Alright, then. One pint.” He didn’t think her smile could have gotten any wider, but it did. She beamed, “Wonderful.” 

She walked ahead of him a little, even though she was shorter than he was she had a brisk stride. He didn't try to keep up with her. He walked at a leisurely pace, finding that he was enjoying the stroll.

They ducked into a dark alley, down a set of stairs, and into a bar called The Vault. As she went to push open the door, she said, "It used to be a bank. Hence the name, I suppose." It was calm but crowded. There was an area with darts and a pool table and an area with a jukebox. Tonks found a seat at a hightop, laid down her bag, and walked to the bar. She ordered, without asking him what he wanted, two amber-colored pints. He just stood at the table until she returned. He took the glass and she clinked them together, "To unexpected evenings." Snape nodded, took a sip of the beer, and sat down. Tonks took several large gulps of hers before settling into her chair.

Their one pint turned into two and then three and then four. Tonks ordered a basket of chips and insisted that he tried them. He wouldn't admit that he loved them, but he did, and they ended up sharing two baskets. What made the evening so enjoyable for Snape was that not once did Tonks talk about The Triwizard Tournament or Harry Potter or anything remotely related to his work. She did, however, tell him humorous story after humorous story — the absurd cases she was given early on, the "dunderheads" (winking at him as she used this adjective) she was expected to work with, and all the things she did to annoy her colleagues in her department. He found that he liked that she was a bit of an instigator, but in a completely harmless way. Snape was annoyed temporarily when she told him she was going to ask him questions, but he was relieved to find she was interested in what Muggle movies he'd seen, what had he thought of the movie earlier, what books he liked to read for pleasure, and so on. He enjoyed answering these, as Tonks seemed genuinely and thoughtfully interested in him. Nothing she asked or said had a double meaning. He slipped a few times into her thoughts just to see if there was some ulterior motive, but the moment he realized there wasn't one, he slipped out. 

Tonks face lit-up when a song came on in the bar. It was a song Snape had never heard, but he delighted in seeing her belt it out with such enthusiasm and gusto. "Why is it that you know so much Muggle music?" he asked her. 

She shrugged with a smile, "I just like it. Also, what's not to like about that song? "Just Like Heaven" is such a good song! The Cure! They speak to my soul, Severus. OHHH. I love this song, too!" 

"What's this?" he inquired

"This is "Get Over You" by The Undertones. They're Irish."

Snape chuckled softly as he watched her sing into a bottle of malt-vinegar. 

"I did it,” she exclaimed.

Snape raised an eyebrow, "Pardon?"

"I, Nymphadora Tonks, made you, Severus Snape, laugh," she said with such triumph that he couldn't help but let a small smile played at his lips. 

"Well, I think anyone would laugh at seeing a slightly-pissed but very attractive woman with pink hair singing loudly and terribly, might I add, into a malt- vinegar bottle," the beers let words slip from his lips more easily, and he hadn't even fully realized that he'd called her attractive, but she silently noted it. 

"Hey, whatever works! After I heard you laugh in the theater, all I wanted was to make you laugh myself."

"Why?" he looked down at his glass, running his fingers up and down the sides. 

"Because you deserve to laugh. To be made to laugh, to feel good…" she trailed off a bit. 

He shrugged, "I've always thought you were very witty and that you had a good sense of humor. I just don't elect to laugh very often."

She flung her hands in his direction, "But whyyyyyyy?" shaking them at him as she elongated the word.

"It would ruin my image."

She laughed. "It must be my lucky night. I got to share chips with the scariest potions master to exist, make him laugh, and, then, hear him make a joke. What a weird world we live in."

He smirked again, shrugged, and shoved a few more chips into his mouth. 

—

**_Summer 1996_ **

Since that night, he'd often thought of Tonks. He half-expected her to run her mouth off to everyone about their evening, but, as far as he could tell, she'd told no one. This made it exceedingly harder for Snape to not think about her. He wished she would have told Lupin or Black; he wished one of them would have berated him about it, then, at least, he could be angry with her for sharing their night with those two idiots. He knew that if Black knew, then Black would've said something to him, but he hadn't. As it stood, he and Tonks had chips and too many beers and several hours that were just theirs: He liked this. 

Knowing that Hermione had asked Tonks for help with the songs made something click in Snape's brain:  _ Was it her? Could it possibly be her? _

He scoffed at himself for thinking this. The fact that he had a soulmate was bizarre enough — his soulmate being someone he already genuinely enjoyed and who, at least somewhat, seemed to enjoy him was just downright impossible. 

His notebook weighed heavy in his pocket. He just wanted this meeting to end so he could get back to his office and look at what Hermione had found.

Once in his office, he looked over the notebook and Hermione’s notes: Cat Stevens, R.E.M., Joy Division, Counting Crows, Green Day…. then he found the names he remembered her mentioning: The Cure. The Undertones. Several songs by both bands. His heart began racing rapidly. Could it be? He knew what he needed to do: He needed to sing. 

He thumbed through all the songs and found the one he wanted, the one that made him  _ feel _ things. He pushed himself away from his desk and headed towards his living quarters to get ready for bed and to get ready to use his singing voice for the first time in a long time. 

— 

Tonks had been home from Grimmauld Place for a few hours now; she was lying in her bed thinking about the evening. She always hoped Snape would speak with her when they saw one another at meetings, but he didn’t. The night they’d spent in Derry was one of her favorites in recent memory, and she wished he would show interest in seeing her again or even just speaking to her. Tonks was well aware of Snape and his boundaries, and she wasn’t willing to ruin whatever quiet friendship they had. 

She’d settled herself against pillows, her legs propped up with a book against them when her mouth involuntarily popped open and she began to sing Counting Crows “Goodnight Elisabeth”. She felt something as she sang, but she wasn’t sure what; she had no idea what was occurring or why it was occurring. 

For three nights she involuntarily sang this song. She would lie in her bed and try to focus on the words and how they felt as she sang them; the lines,  **“I wish you were inside of me. I hope that you're ok. I hope you're resting quietl** y” always resonated the most within her. After the third night, she knew she needed to speak with someone about what exactly was going on and she knew just the person.

Tonks made her way up the many stairs to the north tower to find Trelawney. She poked her head inside her office, “Wotcher, Sybil.” 

Sybil came out from behind a stack of teacups, “Yes, m’dear?”

“I have a question. Something weird is happening. I keep singing — involuntarily, and I just feel something…” Trelawney cut her off before she could finish, “Dear, dear, dear. I’m sorry to do this, but I have something very pressing to do. But, I do believe that Severus will be of help to you.”

“Severus Snape?” Tonks inquired as Trewlaney shooed her out of her office. “Yes, yes. Snape. Now go. We’ll catch up later.”

Bewildered, Tonks stood outside the doors of Trewlaney’s office with her hands in the pockets of her jean jacket before running down the stairs and towards the dungeons. 

Snape heard a knock on his office door. He wasn’t sure who could possibly need to see him at this hour in the morning, but he lifted the wards and the door swung open. 

“Oye. That’s nifty!” Tonks bounded into the room her hair the same bubblegum pink it was the night in Derry. She wore a jean jacket with lots of pins and patches on it, underneath she had a simple white scooped t-shirt, both paired with a pair of black jeans. She looked, to Snape, effortlessly cool and effortlessly beautiful; he cursed himself for such a foolish thought.

“How may I help you, Miss Tonks?”

She flared her nostrils a little and raised her eyebrows, “ _ Miss Tonks _ ,” she mocked. When he didn’t reply she continued, “Trewlaney sent me to you.”

“Why would Trewlaney do such a thing?”

“Well, apparently, you might be able to help me with something.” 

Snape’s heart started racing, but he kept his cool, kept his tone distant and unaffected, “Which is?” 

She shoved her hands into her pockets, “Well, I keep singing involuntarily. For the past three nights, I’ve sung this song that I absolutely love, but I’m not initiating the singing. I just start singing. It’s bizarre.”

If Tonks had been standing a few feet closer to him, he would have been sure that she could have heard his heartbeat. He could hear it in his eardrums, feel it in his temples.  _ It was her. _ He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, and, so, he went to his default setting.

He snorted a mocking laugh, “Look. Trewlaney believes in something ridiculous given an equally ridiculous name. It’s a phenomenon that causes two people, who are soulmates, to sing together but apart until they finally realize that they’re soulmates and sing together. It’s utterly preposterous and idiotic and completely nonsensical. The whole notion of soulmates in-and-of-itself is ridiculous.”

Tonks’ expression gave away exactly how she felt. She looked hurt; she looked as if he’d just thrown water in her face. “I...well. I believe in soulmates. I believe I’m experiencing something special here. I can feel it when I sing. I can feel him.” She paused unsure if he would reply, when he didn’t she turned to go, “Have a good morning, Severus.” 

He watched her as she turned and left his office. He felt guilty; he’d obviously hurt her feelings, but he just hadn’t wanted to reveal too much. 

An hour or so later, Snape was interrupted once again. This time it was Sybil who barged into his office. “You’re a blithering idiotic man! For someone who is so smart, you are so stupid!”

“What the fuck, Sybil?” he set down the quill he was using and looked up at her. 

“Tonks just left my office. You were of no help to her, and you told her it was all nonsense. You know that it isn’t. You were supposed to tell her the truth when she came down here Severus. That was the whole point of me sending her to you.”

“Wait, you knew?”

She sighed, transfigured his wooden chair into a comfy beanbag and fell back into it. “Yes. You buffoon. I knew the moment you stepped into my office.”

“Why in the hell didn’t you tell me? It would have saved me a shit ton of trouble, you know?”

“Yes. Well, you wouldn't have had this past month to realize how much you cared for this mystery woman.” 

“Did you tell her that I’m her soulmate? That that dungeon bat is her missing piece? I’m sure she was bloody thrilled.”

“That’s  _ your _ job to tell her. She seems to care deeply for you as it is. She is enthralled with the phenomenon. She is far more in tune with it than you are; she can feel what you’re feeling as you sing. That’s why she was so certain what was happening was real, so sure in the magic behind it.” Snape looked quite befuddled. “Now, fix this. Don’t muck it up.” 

She stood up, smoothed out her skirt and left his office, leaving the purple beanbag behind.

—-

Later that evening, Snape laid in his bed trying to figure out how he was supposed to tell Tonks that he was the mystery singer; he was her soulmate. What did that even mean? He wondered. What if she didn’t want him as her soulmate? What then? He wasn’t even sure what would be the best way to get in touch with her, and, suddenly, he had a thought; in his memory was a crisp image of her singing into the bottle of malt-vinegar, her pink hair swaying back and forth, her eyes shut showing her glittery eyelids, her lips plump and mauve, her smile wide and glistening as she sang loudly and obnoxiously to...The Undertones.

He was not a man who took leaps of faith often, but he was willing to, just this once. He quickly got dressed and sat back down on his bed and began to sing the song he watched her belt out in the bar,  **“And I don't wanna get over you. It doesn't matter what you do. I just can't get over you, over you.”** He sang the whole song, waited for a beat, and then apparated to the alley where The Vault was. 

When the words came out of her mouth, Tonks immediately knew who was singing and what he was trying to tell her. Her heart swelled and raced with excitement; in just her pajamas, she apparated to him. 

Snape was leaning against the brick wall when she appeared with a soft pop to the left of him. The smile on her lips eased his anxiety and he greeted her, “Hello.” She stepped over to in front of him, “Fancy seeing  _ you _ here.” 

“Yes. Well, I was in the mood for some of those chips...” he paused, “I apologize for earlier. I shouldn’t have been so dismissive.” She tilted her head to the side and shrugged, “It’s okay. Trelawney explained what’s going on and how to stop it. I suppose, then, we have to sing something together. Eh?” 

He nodded, “So it seems.” Stepping closer to him, her feet, which were bare, pressed against his — the bright blue nail polish glowing against his black boots, “ **Well...show me, show me, show me how you do that trick…** ” she began and he followed in tune with her. His voice was low and deep and, much like his laugh she’d heard in the theatre, resonated through her — pulling at her rib cage like strings on a harp.  **“You. Strange as angels. Dancing in the deepest oceans twisting in the water, you're just like a dream. Just like a dream.”** Resting her hands on his chest, one hand with its exploring fingers danced up to his neck and chin, resting lightly against his cheek. As they ended the song, her arms were wrapped around his neck, his hands resting on her waist, “ **You, soft and only, You, lost and lonely. You, just like heaven.** ” As the word “heaven” slipped from their mouths, he bent down close to her, admiring the freckles splattered across the bridge of her nose, and he pressed his lips to hers. She pushed up and into the kiss, the feeling of him against her body, the soft scent of cedar and coffee. 

He gently pulled away to look at her, to not forget the moment. With her hands still around his neck, she asked, with a mischievous smile, “So, what’s the most ridiculous thing I made you sing?” He narrowed his eyes at her playfully, “‘Love Shack’ by the B-52’s.” Tonks tilted her head back and roared with laughter. Snape bent down and kissed her neck softly and murmured against her skin, “Yes. It’s quite hilarious. Isn’t it?” 

Even with his lips against her skin, she felt like a dream — warm and glorious in his arms. He knew things had shifted; the universe had gifted him with meaning and purpose and the want to fight for his life and for hers.

  
  



End file.
